September 17: When Kiara is my last kid, we play a game while waiting for her mom to show up. All she has to do is not laugh. She hasn’t been able to go over ten seconds without erupting into giggles. I don’t even have to do anything, she just can’t contain her laughter. I suspect she even giggles in her sleep.
September 18: We are entirely out of bouncy balls except for the one that is roughly the same size as a kinder student. We started out the school year with one for each class. But each week, one kid gets angry during recess and purposefully kicks it over the fence to get back at the people annoying them. It isn’t until the next recess the day after that they realize that means they have nothing to play with now either.
September 19: My kids are obsessed with the weirdest things about people. They don’t care to know what I do when I go home or what I majored in when I was in college. But they do insist on knowing what tea I have in my thermos every day.
September 20: Turns out my fourth graders will gladly sit down to do their homework if there is a timer set for ten minutes and they try to challenge themselves to finish before the alarm goes off. Not sure why they seem to think it’s fun, but they are weirdly their best behaved when I’m forcing them to do their math sheets.
September 21: Nick told our Google Home to play fall music. It found a playlist made on YouTube. Half an hour in, it played a song about how effortlessly beautiful a woman was. It described the stars in her eyes and the thrill of touching her. It started making me cry, knowing that songs like that are never written about girls like me.
September 22: I don’t know if it’s because of the personal therapy and getting confirmation that I am not crazy, but I can feel all my sadness making a transition into anger. Anger that people thought it was okay to treat me this way for so long and anger that I had accepted it too.
September 23: To introduce the “Our Stories: Circles of Me” unit, I had them play Three-headed story teller. It’s a game where groups of people have to work together to tell a story. Each person can only say one and they take turns as if they were a three-headed monster in a King Arthur story. Their story ended up going: A poop cat named Turdface Butt lived in a doghouse with a toilet that pooped butts. I’m not sure what else I expected.
much love,
hedgie
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